


i see the future in your eyes

by nineofcupsnpc, very_important_army



Category: NINE PERCENT (Band), 偶像练习生 | Idol Producer (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Eating Disorders, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-30 23:44:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17838281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nineofcupsnpc/pseuds/nineofcupsnpc, https://archiveofourown.org/users/very_important_army/pseuds/very_important_army
Summary: Zhangjing hates his body.Good thing his members love it, though. (Especially one Lin Yanjun.)✧ ✧ ✧Prompt:#116: "You zhangjing collapses on the airport and everyone becomes guilty, especially nine percent (most especiallly lyj) as they feel they let it happen right under their noses and didnt do anything.Aka you zhangjing is body dysmorphic/anorexic and his body finally gives up. "





	i see the future in your eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously this fic deals with some pretty heavy topics, and since this is in Zhangjing’s POV, there are thoughts that portray pretty unhealthy mindsets. Please do not read if any of his triggers you. I also personally have not experienced any eating disorders, so what is written here may not be completely accurate. I have tried to do my best to research first-hand accounts, but please let me know if something is portrayed inaccurately.

Zhangjing stares critically at his naked reflection in the mirror. He sighs, prodding at the belly fat that won’t burn off no matter how many crunches he does, at the thighs that won’t tone no matter how many lunges he attempts.

He scowls at the pathetic reflection in the mirror, and resolves to skip dinner once again.

After all, wasn’t it Zhengting who said that you could lose weight due to calorie deficit?

And Zhengting is so nice and slim, perhaps Zhangjing should try that strategy too.

—

A gentle tap on the door sounds as Zhangjing practices the dance for Rulebreaker for the thousandth time. Xukun pokes his head in.

“Zhangjing, it’s dinner time,” the leader smiles at him.

“Oh, I just had a snack,” Zhangjing fibs. “I’ll eat a little later.”

“Okay,” Xukun believes him easily. “I’ll save your portion and leave it in the fridge.”

“Thank you, Kunkun,” Zhangjing smiles weakly. Guess he’ll just feed it to Wu Bai Wan or something, Zhangjing thinks.

And so that night, after he knows everyone has gone back to their rooms, he slips into the kitchen.

 _For Zhangjing-ge!_ The note atop the Tupperware says happily. Zhangjing opens the container, and is met by the mouthwatering sight of curry rice. His stomach growls, but ignores it — he needs to lose weight, he tells himself firmly.

“Come here, girl,” Zhangjing coos at the black puppy. Wu Bai Wan leaps onto his lap, and he strokes her head tenderly. “Are you hungry, Wu Bai Wan?”

He lets the dog lick the plate clean before washing the plate and placing it neatly in the cupboard.

And as his stomach rumbles in protest, Zhangjing takes his flask and fills his stomach with water. 

Hopefully he’ll see better results tomorrow.

—

Zhangjing weighs himself for the third time today. The needle is moving backwards, but just barely — and Zhangjing is frustrated.

 _“I lost seventeen pounds in three days,”_ Zhangjing remembers Chengcheng saying. But Zhangjing has only lost a single pound over the last day, and he exhales an annoyed breath, blowing his bangs wildly around his face.

He opens the door roughly, and is met by Linong’s surprised face. 

“Zhangjing-ge! Where are you going?” Nongnong smiles brightly at Zhangjing.  

“I’m going to the gym,” Zhangjing replies.

“Ah, I’ll go with you! You Laoshi, can you help me practice my singing again?”

Zhangjing agrees, smiling genuinely for what feels like the first time in a while.

Zhangjing is singing his heart out as his feet pound on the treadmill, giggling as Linong exaggerates the notes. Zhangjing feels great — he’s energized, he’s happy, and he can _feel_ the fat burning off as he runs. He clicks the arrow a few times, upping the speed, feeling energized by a sudden burst of motivation.

He pushes himself harder. Faster. He watches the calorie count on the machine tick higher and higher as the pre-set half an hour timer counts down. Hitting the button to cancel the automatic cool-down, he continues running even as he struggles to suck in breaths, panting raggedly.   
  
Zhangjing barely hears Linong tell him that he’s going to head out and wash up first, humming a noncommittal grunt.

 _Again._ He jabs at the machine, resetting the timer. His vision begins to blur, but he ignores it.

 _That’s how you know it’s working_ , Zhangjing tells himself.

_Faster. Harder._

“Jing-ge!” Through the haze in his mind, Zhangjing just barely hears Linong’s voice, laced with panic. _Why?_ Zhangjing wonders — before the world fades away, and Zhangjing’s last thought is that wow, his entire body really hurts, like he ran into something hard. 

_Wonder how that happened._

\--

When Zhangjing comes to, he’s lying on the ground of the gym, head cradled in Linong’s lap. Xukun is there, bending over him. When Zhangjing makes eye contact with the leader, Xukun releases an audible sigh of relief.

“Zhangjing-ge, what were you thinking?” Xukun asked, sounding like he was trying to contain his anger. When Zhangjing flinches, a little scared of the biting edge in the younger man’s voice, Xukun closes his eyes and lets out a deep, slow breath. “Ge,” Xukun begins more calmly, “you ran until you blacked out.”

“Oh, is that what happened?” Zhangjing murmurs guiltily. He makes to get up, but a gentle hand on his shoulder stops him. Ziyi, with his serene face, smiles tightly at him.

“Rest,” he says softly, worry in his eyes and in his furrowed brow. “And here, drink.” He hands Zhangjing a Gatorade.

Zhangjing looks at the nutrition label in worry. “There’s too much sugar in this,” he protests. “My diet…” 

Ziyi shakes his head firmly. “You need the sugar, you just _passed out._ Do you know how much you scared Linong?”

Zhangjing looks up at Linong’s worried face. He’s not crying anymore, but dried tear tracks are obvious, and his eyes are rimmed with red. “Sorry,” Zhangjing bites his lip, the guilt coursing through his blood nonstop. “How long was I out?”

Linong parts his lips to speak, voice coming out cracked and tight. “Just for a few minutes.” He clears his throat. “But you really scared me, Jing-ge! I saw your eyes roll back and then you just...fell! And then I texted the group chat because I didn’t know what to do. Jing-ge, you scared me so much!” Linong looks on the verge of tears again, and Zhangjing is reminded of just how young the boy really is.

Zhangjing pats his hand weakly. “Sorry for scaring you, Nongnong.” Zhangjing bites his lip. “When you say group chat...did Lin Yanjun see it?”

Xukun nods. “He should be here soon, he came back straight from the studio.”

Zhangjing winces. “You guys didn’t need to drop everything you were doing for me.”

The leader scoffs. “Of course we did. You’re our ge. We care about you.”  

Before Zhangjing can reply, the door slams open, banging harshly against the wall and rebounding back. Lin Yanjun strides in purposefully, long coat billowing behind him dramatically.

He looks absolutely _murderous._

Zhangjing gulps. “Yanjun, I’m okay—” he croaks weakly.

“Shut up, Zhangjing,” Yanjun snaps. Zhangjing shuts up. Yanjun plops down next to Linong, and tugs Zhangjing over to his own lap. Though his expression is angry, his hands are gentle, familiar. Yanjun strokes Zhangjing’s hair in calm, rhythmic strokes.

“You scared me so fucking bad,” Yanjun murmurs, just for Zhangjing’s ears. Zhangjing can see Ziyi and Xukun look away politely. “When I got the text from Linong, I just about lost it.”

“Sorry,” Zhangjing whispers again. “I’m sorry for making you guys come over here.”

Yanjun’s eyes tighten even further. “That’s not what you should be apologizing for,” Yanjun says. “Apologize for over-exercising. Apologize for overexerting yourself. Apologize for _not taking care of yourself_ ,” Yanjun rants, getting angrier with each passing word. He picks up the forgotten Gatorade bottle and props Zhangjing up against his own chest, his long legs coming to rest on either side of Zhangjing like an armchair. “Promise me that you’ll take care of yourself,” he whispers into Zhangjing’s ears, pleading and anguished.

“I promise,” Zhangjing chokes out, trying to fight back the tears in his eyes. Yanjun wraps himself around Zhangjing tightly, and Zhangjing can feel his body trembling against his own.

“Drink,” Yanjun demands, handing him the uncapped bottle. His brown eyes are round and glassy and unwavering. The pain in his eyes surprises Zhangjing a little — as if his own physical pain was transferred over to Yanjun instead.

How could Zhangjing refuse those eyes?

And Zhangjing drinks, choking down the sugary liquid — the first sustenance that he’s had in days.

Not that he’d ever tell the rest of his group that.

\--

Xukun watches over him like a hawk for the next few weeks. And when the leader has a schedule, Linong is there, with his wide worried eyes and creased brow, and Zhangjing feels too guilty to even attempt to run faster than his usual pace.

Linong quietly keeps pace with him, shooting him glances that he thinks Zhangjing doesn’t notice, and the silence bothers Zhangjing.

He misses the Nongnong that sang with him, the Nongnong that teased him, the one who pushed him to go faster.

It’s not like encouraging him to lose weight was a _bad_ thing, Zhangjing reasons. After all, he does need to lose weight — he knows, Linong knows, his fans know — _and_ Zhangjing was happier. He doesn’t need to be coddled like this. 

Right?

Zhangjing breaks the silence. “ _What is miss is leaving no words left unsaid…”_ He trails off, looking at Linong to continue the line.

Linong beams at him. “ _What I miss are the times we dreamt together.”_ The younger boy looks utterly relieved that Zhangjing is seemingly back to normal, and he sings at the top of his lungs.

Zhangjing giggles at his enthusiasm, and joins in to sing the next line together. “ _What I miss is the impulse to still love you even after arguing...”_   

“Zhangjing-ge,” Linong pouts at him disapprovingly, “You have to leave when I leave this time.”

Zhangjing nods and bites his lip, feeling guilty — he really didn’t mean to worry Linong so much. But it _is_ quite touching to see his younger brothers care for him so much.

When Linong steps off the treadmill, claiming that he’s dying of hunger, Zhangjing trots after him obediently. Linong latches tightly onto Zhangjing’s hand, as if he’s afraid Zhangjing would turn around and get back on the machine. 

Zhangjing follows him quietly, hoping to set his mind at ease.

He tries to ignore the growling of his stomach as it pleads for actual food, rather than just the sports drinks that Ziyi’s been forcing down his throat.

 _I’ve had enough calories for the day,_ Zhangjing tells his stomach firmly. _You shut up._

_\--_

Linong heads out to eat with his friends with a cheery “Don’t wait up for me for dinner!” and Zhangjing can’t help but feel relieved. At least now, Zhangjing doesn’t have to try to think of an excuse to not eat with Linong, since the younger boy has been extra clingy recently.

But Zhu Zhengting is another story.

“You Zhangjing!” Zhengting calls out in greeting as soon as Zhangjing comes home. “Come eat, we’re making ramen!”

Zhangjing trots to the kitchen, mouth watering but stomach churning. “It’s so late though,” he says, reluctant.  

Zhengting drapes an arm around his shoulder. “But look, Lin Yanjun is actually cooking!”

“Hey,” Yanjun scowls, turning around to reveal an apron that says Kiss The Cook. Zhangjing thinks it looks oddly domestic, and really does want to kiss him—wait, what? “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you didn’t even know how to boil the water, so I’m shocked by this character development!”

Yanjun flings a wet kitchen towel at Zhengting, who shrieks and bats it away.

“But Zhangjing,” Yanjun continues, “Don’t you want to try my cooking?” He looks at Zhangjing with those eyes, dimple etched on that handsome face of his, and Zhangjing is weak.

He’s never been able to resist Yanjun, and so Zhangjing agrees.

He inhales the ramen as if he hasn’t eaten in days. 

Which, when he thinks about it, is true, he supposes.

\-- 

Zhangjing wakes up the next morning feeling sick. He groans, rolling out of bed and into the bathroom, fighting the urge to gag.

He falls in front of the toilet bowl, bile rising in his throat. Last night’s guilty pleasure erupts out of him and falls into the porcelain bowl, and he stares at the half-digested food in disgust.

But the longer he stares, the better he feels. Vomiting out his half-eaten food...it feels relieving — cathartic, even. And he knows that he shouldn’t be doing this. But staring at the bits of food swirling around in the water causes him to think.

What if there was a way to still enjoy the taste of the food he loves and still be able to not gain the calories?

His thoughts are interrupted as the door flies open. Yanjun barges in, looking stricken.

“I heard you vomiting,” he says, eyebrows knit together. He bites his lip. “It wasn’t my food yesterday, was it?” 

Zhangjing chuckles weakly, flushing the toilet and wiping at his mouth. “If it were your food, wouldn’t you think that you’d also be sick?”

Yanjun wets a washcloth and hands it to him. “I don’t know, you’re delicate.”

Zhangjing scoffs. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?” He tries to rinse out the sour taste in his mouth, but water isn’t doing the trick. Yanjun hands him mouthwash silently. 

“You tell me what’s wrong then,” Yanjun glares at him, but he still looks concerned.

Zhangjing sighs. “Stomach bug?” He offers weakly. He puts down the mouthwash, stumbling when he tries to stand upright. Yanjun quietly moves beside him to act as a human pillar, supporting Zhangjing’s weak legs as he hobbles out the door and into bed.

“Stay here,” Yanjun orders, before he disappears out the door with a swish of his coat.

Apparently Zhangjing dozed off while waiting for Yanjun to come back, because he’s rudely awoken by Yanjun shaking a plastic bag in his face. He scowls up at the younger man.

“I was sleeping,” Zhangjing croaks out.

“I know,” Yanjun replies, nonchalant. “But I got you medicine. Take it.”

Without another word, Yanjun drops the bag on Zhangjing’s face (“Hey!” Zhangjing splutters), turns around and walks out the door.

Zhangjing opens the bag to find Tylenol, Pepto-Bismol, some saltines, and a bottle of water.

“I can’t believe he dropped all this stuff on my face, no wonder it hurt,” Zhangjing grumbles to himself, but he can’t help but smile slightly. Zhangjing takes only the bottle of water — he knows it’s not really a stomach bug, anyway.

Yanjun’s always been quite considerate of him — even if it embarrasses him when Zhangjing says it to his face.

\--

For the first time in what feels like ages, Zhangjing sits down to eat with the rest of the group.

“Zhangjing! Yanjun said you weren’t feeling well, we made chicken noodle soup!”

The bowl is placed in front of Zhangjing, and Zhengting sits next to him, trying to spoon the steaming broth into his mouth. “Say ahh!”

Zhangjing flinches back, peering down at the spoon suddenly shoved in front of his lips. “Zhengzheng,” Zhangjing laughs, “I can feed myself.”

“You’re sick,” Zhengting pouts at him.

“I’m sick, I don’t have a broken arm or something.”

Yanjun, sitting on Zhangjing’s over side, places his hand on Zhangjing’s knee. “Zhengting was worried about you,” he says simply.

 _Let him mother you,_ is the unspoken statement.

Zhangjing opens his mouth obediently, heart warming at the realization that Zhengting _cared_.

And the frequent, secretive glances from the rest of his members mirror the worry in Zhengting’s expression.

And Yanjun looks the most worried of all, eyebrows furrowed in a way that others would think is just his typical expression. But Zhangjing can tell that the creases in his skin are just little more defined, that the wrinkles by his eyes are just a little bit tighter.

Zhangjing pats Yanjun’s hand. “I’m okay,” he whispers. Yanjun just squeezes his knee in response.

Bite by bite, the soup disappears into Zhangjing’s stomach. Every swallow feels heavy, suffocating, and guilty.

Zhangjing reminds himself that it’s okay. He tells himself to enjoy the food.

After all, he can just purge himself of it later.

Right? 

\-- 

So Zhangjing joins them for every meal. He eats with them, he laughs with them, and he savors the flavors that explode on his tongue. He eats until he’s full, and then he eats some more. 

And after every meal, he excuses himself to the bathroom, and makes a decision.

Does he want to vomit or take a laxative today?

Every time Zhangjing sticks a finger down his throat, or fumbles for the package of laxatives, Lin Yanjun’s worried face flashes in his mind. But then Zhangjing remembers Yanjun’s relieved face, his smile when he sits with Zhangjing at dinner, dimples flashing. 

And, well, if he wants to continue eating with Yanjun, if he wants to keep those dimples freed, then this is what Zhangjing must do.

It’s a small price to pay, really.

\--

Zhangjing drags himself out of bed on the morning of their flight. For some reason he’s been extra tired recently, and despite going to bed earlier, he doesn’t feel any more rested.

He splashes water on his face, trying to wake himself up. As he looks up, his haggard, rumpled reflection stares back at him. Zhangjing groans, dreading the fansite pictures of his disheveled self that are sure to pop up all over the internet. He drags a brush through is hair, trying to make himself a bit more presentable, but it just flops lifelessly back over his eyes, so he gives up.

Zhangjing grabs a pair of sunglasses and a face mask — he’s going to need them.

A knock sounds on the door just as Zhangjing tugs an oversized hoodie over his head, too tired to deal with putting on a presentable outfit. Yanjun pokes his handsome face through the doorway.

“You Zhangjing, are you ready?” 

Zhangjing hums in agreement, but Yanjun quirks his head at him. “Are you okay? You look kinda pale.”

“I’m just tired, I think,” Zhangjing croaks out. Wow, his voice sounds like death. “I’ll just sleep on the plane later.”

Yanjun says nothing, merely looks at him. And Zhangjing feels exposed by the long, judging scan of his body, but Yanjun just turns around and walks to the car. Zhangjing follows him quietly, climbing into the backseat next to Yanjun. 

“Sleep,” Yanjun murmurs quietly, for Zhangjing’s ears only. He gently pushes Zhangjing’s head onto his own shoulder, and Zhangjing snuggles gratefully against him. “I’ll wake you up when we get there.”

Zhangjing, somehow, feels even worse when Yanjun nudges at him. His head is throbbing, and when he stands up, his vision swims for a second.

“Jing, are you okay?” Ziyi asks, concerned. He rests a steadying hand on Zhangjing’s shoulder. 

“Yeah, just didn’t sleep enough,” Zhangjing mutters. The sunlight is harsh on his eyes, even through his sunglasses, and he cowers away, hiding behind Ziyi’s tall frame. “Minor headache.” 

Yanjun climbs out after him. “Stick close to me, Zhangjing.” 

Zhangjing shadows the younger boy, resting his cheek against the back of his shoulder whenever he gets the chance. He can hear the shutter of cameras from the fans, and he musters up the energy to wave limpy at his Xiyous, before burying his face back into Yanjun’s shoulder. 

“Yanjun,” he whispers into the younger boy’s shirt, “I’m really lightheaded.” The screaming of fans has dimmed into a quiet roar in the back of his head, and his vision turns blurry.

“Hmm?” Yanjun asks, turning around to face Zhangjing. “I didn’t hear what you said.”

And without the pillar that is Lin Yanjun, Zhangjing feels himself falling, plummeting towards the ground. 

The last thing he hears before the world fades black is Lin Yanjun’s panicked shouting of his name.

* * *

 Yanjun paces back and forth nervously, angrily, fearfully.

“Ge,” Xukun says from where he’s perched on the hard plastic seat, looking like he’s aged ten years, “please calm down.” He reaches out to pat Yanjun on the arm. 

“That is my _best friend_ in the emergency room right there,” Yanjun snaps, yanking his arm away. In the back of his mind, he knows that he shouldn’t be angry — not at Xukun, not at Zhangjing, not at the _fucking doctor that’s taking forever to tell him what happened to Zhangjing._ But his worry and desperation is manifesting itself as anger, and Yanjun wants to throw something, to break something.

“And he’s our ge,” Xukun continues, unfazed. “You think you’re the only one who cares about him? But being angry isn’t going to help anyone.”

 _I’m the only one who cares about him like this_ , Yanjun wants to scream. He can feel the hot tears burning, but he refuses to let them fall. Zhangjing will be okay. He _has_ to be okay. Yanjun doesn’t want to think about what would happen if he isn’t.

“What even happened?” Zhengting murmurs to himself, eyebrows creased. His pretty face is lined with worry, and he seems just as restless as Yanjun. Even though he’s sitting on the seat next to Xukun, his leg is jiggling nonstop, and he keeps fidgeting with his hands.

For the first time, Justin, Chengcheng, and Linkai are silent. Justin is clinging onto Zhengting, eyebrows furrowed, while Chengcheng stares off into space, lost in thought. Linkai is looking down, playing with his headphones, a pout on his face. 

Linong watches Yanjun pace, eyes wide. Worry is etched in every line on his face, and his eyes dart back and forth between Yanjun’s motion and the red light of the emergency room.

Ziyi is on Xukun’s other side. He bends forward, resting his elbows on his eyes, eyes trained on the door. He is still as a statue, and Yanjun thinks that if he bumps into him, Ziyi might crumble in front of his eyes.

The red light finally clicks off. Yanjun freezes. Xukun jumps to his feet. Justin squeezes onto Zhengting’s hand so tightly it turns red, but Zhengting says nothing, staring a hole into the door.

The doctor steps out. “Those here for You Zhangjing?”

In an instant, Yanjun is across the hall. “Yes, that’s us,” he says, panic in his voice. “Is he okay?”

The doctor smiles. “Come in and see for yourself.”

Zhangjing is sitting up in bed, hooked up to an IV bag and looking contrite. He looks exhausted, but he’s awake and alive and Yanjun’s heart explodes with emotions he can’t name. He bites his lip when he makes eye contact with Yanjun, looking at him with huge, pitiful eyes.   

“You promised me you’d take care of yourself,” Yanjun spits out. He bites his lip, hard. _Don’t cry, Lin Yanjun._

“I’m sorry, Lin Yanjun,” Zhangjing pouts at him, looking so much like the playful, cheerful Zhangjing he knows and loves and craves that he can feel the tears welling up, hot and stinging. Yanjun collapses into the chair beside Zhangjing’s bed and ignores the eyes he can feel on his back.

He takes Zhangjing’s small, cold hand into his own and buries his face into the mound of blankets on Zhangjing’s chest. 

The covers are soaked through with tears.

\--

“Bulimia?” Yanjun repeats flatly. He draws his brows in, glaring at Zhangjing through the glass of the window, and even though he can’t hear what they’re saying, he shrinks in on himself when he sees Yanjun’s piercing glare.

The doctor nods. “Have you noticed him going to the bathroom after every meal?”

Zhengting nods. “But we never realized...I mean, we were just happy that he was eating. I never thought he was purging as well.” 

The doctor sighs. “Purging has side effects other than just ridding the body of calories and nutrients. As you can see, syncope — or fainting — is one of them. Right now he’s on an IV drip to balance his electrolytes, but his condition is fairly stable. It doesn’t seem like it’s been happening for long — just make sure he eats properly and rests properly.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Xukun says quietly.

“And his mental condition?” Yanjun asks, voice breaking and raw from crying. He clears his throat harshly.

“It’s a process. Ensure that his eating behaviors are properly monitored, and he can go to therapy to help correct any misconceptions and attitudes about his weight. Does he talk about losing weight often?”

“Yes.”

“All the time.”

“Nonstop.”

The doctor smiles wryly. “He’s not underweight right now, but he shouldn’t really lose anymore. Just make sure that he doesn’t binge eat, but also that he doesn’t skip meals either. Balance is key.”

“Balance,” Xukun murmurs, smiling slightly.

“You got it, doctor!” Linong says, determined.

“With friends like you, I’m sure Zhangjing will be absolutely fine,” the doctor smiles. 

Yanjun breathes a sigh of relief. 

And now that the initial panic has faded, his worry has turned to anger.

* * *

 The second Zhangjing is settled back into his own bed, Yanjun storms off, slamming the door behind him.

“Yanjun?” he calls out meekly, far too late — the younger man is long gone by now. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes to the empty room.

A knock sounds on the door, and Ziyi pokes his head in.

“Ziyi!” Zhangjing smiles at the taller man.

“Hey, bro,” Ziyi replies, closing the door gently behind him. Zhangjing silently thanks him for sparing the poor door, after Yanjun’s abuse just seconds earlier.

“How are you feeling?” Kind, gentle Ziyi asks, worry lining his handsome face.

“Better,” Zhangjing admits. At the very least, his head isn’t throbbing and his vision isn’t swimming anymore.

Ziyi looks relieved. “I’m glad,” he smiles. “The boys sent me here to help come up with a healthy meal plan for you.”

Zhangjing hesitates. Will he be able to stick to it?

“Please, ge,” Ziyi pleads quietly. “We’ll support you through it. Don’t try to do it alone, we want to help.”

Zhangjing nods slowly. “Okay,” he agrees. “What do we have to do?”

\--

“Jing-ge!” Zhengting yells loudly, smacking on the door with his palm. “Dinner’s ready!”

As soon as Zhangjing opens the door, Zhengting grabs his wrist and pulls him to the kitchen, babbling excitedly.

“So I made you broccoli and chicken breast and salmon and beans—”

“Zhengzheng, how am I supposed to eat that much? What are you guys going to eat?” Zhangjing interrupts, amused.

Zhengting pouts at him. “We’re all going on the plan with you,” Zhengting says. “It’s not fair if you’re eating something different. And it’ll be fun!” the younger man enthuses. “I asked Dong Yanlei for all the best recipes so you can eat something healthy and delicious every day!”

Zhangjing beams at him, and Zhengting coos, latching wrapping Zhangjing up in a tight bear hug.

“Ah, You Zhangjing!” Zhengting shrieks happily. Zhangjing mourns the loss of his eardrum, but he hugs Zhengting back just as tightly.

Zhengting half drags him to the dining room, attached to him in a tangled pile of limbs. Yanjun is standing there, carefully picking out a plate of the of salmon and chicken, along with heaping sides of vegetables.

Zhengting scowls at him. “Lin Yanjun, who told you to pick out the best pieces for yourself?”

Yanjun looks up and makes eye contact with Zhangjing, and his face darkens immediately. “Here,” he says, thrusting the plate into Zhangjing’s empty hands. “I ate already.”

He turns around and storms out of the room, not even waiting for Zhangjing’s reply.

“Lin Yanjun, we’re supposed to be eating together!” Zhengting shouts angrily after him.

The only response is a slamming of the bedroom door. Zhangjing looks down at the plate in his hands, hurt and touched and confused as hell.  

\--

Linong slides into the empty seat next to him, eyes wide and worried. “Jing-ge, are you feeling okay?” 

Zhangjing pats him on the knee. “I’m perfectly fine, Nongnong.” 

Zhangjing isn’t sure if the younger boy believes him. Linong watches him like a hawk throughout the entire meal, watching each bite travel to his mouth. He’s so focused on Zhangjing that several times throughout the meal, Zhangjing chuckles and asks, “Nongnong, you’re not eating?” when he sees the spoon positioned in the air and the younger boy forgetting about the bite of food he’s holding up. 

Zhangjing takes every bite happily. Unlike before, where each bite was loaded with guilt and the the enjoyment of food was marred with the thought of purging it afterwards, Zhengting’s cooking just reminds him of the love that the rest of the boys have for him. So maybe the chicken was a bit dry, and the broccoli just a tad bit underdone (and Zhangjing definitely smelled something burning earlier, but he’ll pretend he doesn’t know), but the furtive concerned looks that Xukun and Ziyi have been sending him and the obviously worried crease in Zhengting’s brow makes this meal the best he’s ever eaten.

When his plate is clear, Zhangjing leans back and pats his stomach happily. “Ge, are you done already?” Chengcheng asks though a mouthful of broccoli. He swallows and stares down at his now empty plate, shooting furtive, longing looks at the chicken still left in the center dish. Zhangjing pushes it closer to him.

“If you’re still hungry, eat,” Zhangjing instructs. 

Chengcheng looks up at him with hesitantly. “But I need to lose weight.” 

“Silly,” Zhengting says matter-of-factly, piling more chicken onto his plate. “This is weight loss food!” Chengcheng looks at his plate, and looks back at Zhangjing, chopsticks still poised in the air. 

“Eat,” Zhangjing repeats. “What is enough for me is might not be enough for you.” He reaches over and grasps younger boy’s free hand. “You saw what happened,” he says gently. “Don’t make my mistake.”

With wide, trusting eyes, Chengcheng nods. He digs into his chicken, clearly ravenous, and Zhangjing smiles fondly at him, pushing his chair back to excuse himself to the restroom. 

The room freezes.

Chengcheng looks alarmed, chopsticks hovered in midair. Linong drops his spoon. Zhengting nearly flies out of his seat, and Xukun narrows his eyes.

“Relax,” Zhangjing says, rolling his eyes playfully, “I actually need to pee. I’ll be back soon!”

Zhengting still looks like he’s about to follow him to the bathroom, so Zhangjing pats his back until he sinks back into his chair. “I promise, Zhengzheng.”

When the bathroom door swings shut behind him, he hears footsteps outside the door. “I’ll be right out!” he calls, but no response. Zhangjing quickly finishes up. When he opens the door, Yanjun is sitting on the floor beside the threshold.

“Oh!” Zhangjing squeaks, surprised. He was expecting overprotective Zhengting to be waiting for him, or maybe responsible Xukun. “Lin Yanjun, were you waiting for the bathroom?”

“No,” he huffs out, sounding relieved and exasperated at once. He gets up from the floor, brushing off the back of his shirt, and walks back to his room. Zhangjing stares at his retreating back in shock.  

“Um, okay…” he pouts at the empty corridor.

\--

Zhangjing’s lost track of how many times he’s told his members that _he’s okay, he’s really fine._ Zhangjing understands why they’re worried, he guesses, since the last time he said that, he ended up passing out in the airport, but he really is feeling better.

Seeing Yanjun bawl his eyes out like that, the pain in his eyes, scared Zhangjing. And he never, ever wants to see that again.

Zhangjing bites his lip. In fact, he’d take this weird, angrily protective Yanjun over the anguished, pained Yanjun that collapsed onto his chest and trembled like a leaf in the wind. Zhangjing remembers the tight grip of Yanjun’s fingers, clammy and shaking, and the warm tears that soaked through the thin sheets and onto his skin. Yanjun had looked up at him, stifling a sob, eyes rimmed with red and bottom lip swollen from the incessant lip biting that Zhangjing recognized as his way of trying to contain the tears.

Zhangjing hates the fact that it was him that made Yanjun like this. That he was the one who made Yanjun cry.

All Zhangjing wants to do is throw his arms around Yanjun, hold him tight and bury his face into the younger man’s chest, and never let him go.

But right now, Yanjun won’t even give him the time of day. 

Zhangjing scowls. 

What is _wrong_ with Yanjun recently? He takes care of Zhangjing, but won’t even look at him. Zhangjing is so confused — he plops down on his bed staring up at the ceiling, searching for the answers that evade him. 

A quiet knock on the door. Expecting it to be Zhengting, Xukun, Ziyi, or even Linong checking up on him, Zhangjing calls out.

“Come in!”

The door opens a crack, and to Zhangjing’s utter surprise, Linkai pokes his head into his room.

“Xiao Gui!” He chirps happily, yet questioningly. Linkai never really seeks Zhangjing out one-on-one — the hyper, chatty boy usually gravitates towards Justin or Chengcheng.

“Zhangjing-ge, can I come in?” The younger boy points to the bed.

Zhangjing lifts up the covers, inviting him in. Linkai crawls into Zhangjing’s bed, tucking himself into Zhangjing’s side. Zhangjing tries to hide his surprise — and if Linkai notices his bugged out eyes, well, he doesn’t say anything.

“Ge, look at this meme I saw online!” Linkai pulls out his phone. An unflattering picture of Zheng Ruibin greets him, and Zhangjing snorts, choking on his own breath. Linkai is cackling mischievously, swiping through his phone to reveal progressively unattractive pictures. Zhangjing can’t remember the last time he laughed so hard, wiping tears from the corner of his eyes.

“Oh my god,” he gasps, “send those to me, please. I’m gonna tease Ruibin about these _forever.”_

Linkai tucks his head into the junction between Zhangjing’s neck and shoulder, his hair tickling Zhangjing’s chin. Zhangjing strokes his hair, and Linkai cuddles into his touch like a small, affectionate puppy.

Linkai shows him more memes on his phone, including some of Zhangjing himself (“Oh my _god,”_ Zhangjing groans when he sees a particularly cringe-worthy photo, pushing Linkai’s face away from him. Linkai just laughs brightly before tucking himself right back into Zhangjing’s arms.) until the younger boy begins to yawn loudly. Zhangjing laughs, untangling himself from the younger boy. Linkai crawls out of the bed, heading towards his own room.

“Good night, ge,” he mumbles as he wanders towards the door.

“Good night,” Zhangjing replies, “and thank you, Linkai.” The younger boy flashes him a bright grin before waving and disappearing into the hallways, and Zhangjing settles into bed, the remnants of a smile still painted on his face.

\--

“Ge!” Justin yells. Beside him, Zhangjing can see Ziyi wince at his volume. “Jing-ge, come sit next to me!”  

Zhangjing hesitates. There are two seats open — the one next to Justin, or the one next to Yanjun. Under normal circumstances, Zhangjing would’ve chosen the one next to Yanjun without hesitation. It’s movie night,and  knowing Linong and Linkai, it’s probably a scary movie — and Zhangjing really likes hiding behind Yanjun’s broad shoulder, all safe and secure.

But Lin Yanjun hasn’t properly spoken to him since he was in the hospital.

Zhangjing sneaks a peek at Yanjun. When he makes eye contact with the younger man, Yanjun just scoffs and looks away.

Zhangjing swallows, and slides into the seat next to Justin.  

Justin throws his arms around Zhangjing gleefully. “You can hide behind me if you get scared, ge,” Justin’s eyes twinkle cheekily.

“Who’s scared?” Zhangjing scoffs. “Just start the movie already, would you?”

\--

Zhangjing is scared. He whines, hiding behind Justin’s shoulder, who slings a protective arm around Zhangjing. “I will protect my gege,” Justin announces proudly.

Ever since Zhangjing landed himself in the hospital, Justin has been much more physically affectionate — not that Zhangjing minds. He snuggles into Justin’s embrace, always a sucker for physical affection.

Yanjun glares daggers at Justin’s arm before standing up abruptly, storming out the room.

Zhangjing jumps up instinctively, following after him. Justin, still attached to Zhangjing, shadows him like an obedient puppy.

Xukun hushes the other members that make to follow after them, shaking his head. “Let them go,” he says. “I think they need this.”

\-- 

“Lin Yanjun,” Zhangjing calls after him, anger and annoyance seeping into his voice. “Don’t you dare walk away from me again.”  
  
Yanjun stops, but doesn’t turn around. Justin looks at Zhangjing, looks at Yanjun, and scurries out quickly.   
  
“Lin Yanjun,” Zhangjing says again, quietly this time. Even so, his voice breaks pathetically. He takes a few unsteady steps, gingerly wrapping his arms around Yanjun’s waist from behind. “Why are you ignoring me?” He mumbles into Yanjun’s back. His voice is high and pitiful and childlike, and Zhangjing presses his cheek harder against Yanjun’s shoulder.   
  
Tightly pressed against Yanjun as he is, Zhangjing can feel Yanjun breath in deeply. “I’m sorry,” Yanjun whispers, sounding ashamed. He turns around in Zhangjing’s arms and wraps his own around Zhangjing. Zhangjing hides his face in Yanjun’s chest, silently letting the tears fall.   
  
“I was so worried when you fainted,” Yanjun mumbles into Zhangjing’s hair. “And then I got angry. You promised, Zhangjing,” Yanjun says, broken and trembling and emotional, “You promised to take care of yourself. And the entire time, you were just hurting yourself even more. And I was so angry at you, for neglecting yourself like that, and I was so angry at myself, for not noticing. How could I have not noticed? Why wasn’t I there with you when you needed it? Why was I so dumb to let this happen?” Yanjun lets the words spill out into the still air, choked and sensitive.   
  
“It’s not your fault,” Zhangjing whispers.   
  
“Do you know how much it killed me?” Yanjun lifts Zhangjing’s chin to look into his eyes. Yanjun’s eyes are bloodshot and his nose is red, but his cheeks are dry. As Zhangjing watches, the droplets trickle from Yanjun’s beautiful eyes down his sculpted face. “When you just…collapsed in front of me. All of a sudden. I held you in my arms, You Zhangjing, and it had been all I’d ever wanted.” Yanjun swallows hard. “But not like this. Never like this. I never want to see you vulnerable, weak, lifeless.” The next sentence comes out as a sob. “I just want to hold you in my arms like this, with you happy and healthy and looking at me with all the stars in your eyes.”   
  
“I’m okay, Lin Yanjun,” Zhangjing tells him once more. “Or at least, I will be. I just need you here by my side,” he says. “As long as I have you, I will always be okay.”   
  
“Then you will always be okay,” Yanjun whispers fiercely. “Because I’m never leaving you alone. Don’t cuddle with Justin anymore,” he pouts. “Or Linong. Or Ziyi. Or Linkai. Or Zhengzheng. I’ll give you all the cuddles you want,” Yanjun grumps.

Zhangjing giggles, relieved and anticipatory and gleeful. “But I like cuddling with them.”

Yanjun wavers, weak to Zhangjing’s whims. “Fine,” he acquiesces. “But I’m the only one who gets to do this.”   
  
And when Yanjun finally leans down to press his lips tenderly against Zhangjing’s, hands slipping underneath Zhangjing’s loose T-shirt to grip onto his hip bones, and fireworks explode behind his closed eyelids, Zhangjing believes it. Believes that everything will be just fine.  


End file.
